


Gunpoint

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Dean Winchester Whump, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Whump, Season/Series 05, Shooting, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump, Whumptober 2019, gunpoint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 14:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Dean goes missing, and when Sam eventually find him he realizes he's part of a bigger plan.





	Gunpoint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 5 of Whumptober 2019.  
Prompt: gunpoint
> 
> Yes, I'm cruel to Dean in this even though it's not his POV, but it's because I love him, and I also don't see why Lucifer wouldn't go to town on him.

Dean had gone missing the week before, and trying to chase him down, find out what he’d been up to, had led Sam to the reeking cesspool of Fresno, California. Trapped by mountains on three sides, and with a pesticide factory, a landfill, and people who used to regularly burn their crops till recent years, it was marinating in its own pollution. The air was heavier, and smelled atrocious, and any water was surely contaminated.

Crime rates were up too.

Sam didn’t blame them. He’d be hurting people and stealing from them to get decent water or anything else he might need around there. But luckily he wasn’t staying long. And, something told him that California would be a dangerous place to be very soon. There’d been smaller earthquakes throughout the west coast the last couple of days, but they were building in strength and frequency: one of the many side effects of the Apocalypse.

Sam was investigating a warehouse that hadn’t been in use in at least the last century, and it had taken on a decrepit look. There were worn and scuffed bricks, some that were crumbling and a roof that didn’t seem as if it would stay up for much longer. He was tentative about entering, but he’d used a tracking spell that had led him there.

Dean had to be close by.

And in his mind he turned over what he might find. Dean’s body, dead, throat ripped out, or maybe his head chopped off, or some other horrific mutilation done to him. Dean, no longer Dean, but a monster. There was the possibility that he’d gotten himself captured as well, which was very likely given the demonic activity going on in the city.

Even now a lightning storm threatened to fill the sky, dark clouds writhing above with electrical charges.

“Dean?” he called out, gun cocked and at the ready as he went in through a hole in the wall big enough for at least two men. Calling out his brother’s name would surely alert enemies of his position, but it was a chance he had to take if he wanted to find his brother. Besides, it was possible they already knew he was there. “Dean!”

Something changed in the putrid air, a scent striking him, there was a shuffle of motion, a click, the safety hammer of a gun being flicked back. Cold metal pressed to the back of his head, and he froze.

“Guess again.”

The voice was feminine, and not one he was familiar with. Sam was close enough to attempt to disarm the woman, but one wrong move, and he’d be dead. It’d be easier to talk his way out of this.

He raised his hands, gun held up, showing he wouldn’t aim it at her.

“Turn around.”

Sam did as she ordered, and the gun was pressed into his face, against his chin. He swallowed roughly as she tilted his head up with it, eyeing him. She had hair shorter than his, a sweet-looking face, and black pitiless eyes.

A demon.

“Lookie what I caught. Had a feeling you’d take the bait.”

“Where’s my brother?”

She tilted her head, seeming to be thinking. “Hmm… Around. Now drop the gun.”

Adrenaline was jumping through his veins, blood boiling, but he did as was requested.

“If you’re a demon why do you need a gun?” he asked.

She grabbed his wrists, holding them behind his back, and started walking forward through the rubble of the doorway with him, gun pressed against the side of his head. Sweat dripped onto the steel.

“I find it’s more expressive. Now, move. I have orders.”

“Great,” Sam muttered.

Even as he said that fear seemed to bloom in him, welling in his gut till his legs were trembling, and he felt like he might lose his breakfast. A demon with orders. He figured he knew what they were, what was going on now.

It was the Apocalypse, and Lucifer did not yet have his prize.

Sam’s assumption was correct because he was taken to the basement, and there he found Dean. Lucifer had his legs propped up on his back like he was a god damn footstool as he he sat in a bone-white chair.

“Sam!” the Devil exclaimed upon seeing him, rising up, arms out as if he was going to hug him.

Sam’s pulse jumped in his neck, and he tried to take a step back. The gun pressed firmly against his head.

“So you found your brother.”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam got out, taking in the state of him. He was black and blue, face swollen, blood drying on him, and he thought maybe his nails were missing.

“‘S’okay, Sammy.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers, leaving Dean screaming soundlessly on the floor as pain seemed to have suddenly engulfed him.

“Stop!” Sam begged. “Just stop. You have me. Let him go.”

“Oh, I would, and I know what I’ve done is terrible, but I need him here if we’re going to talk.”

Lucifer came forward, so close Sam could see serum and blood oozing from the sores on his face as he burned through his vessel. He grabbed the gun from the demon, and waved her away.

He walked around Sam, appraising the weapon as if it was a simple toy. Lucifer fiddled with it, checking the ammunition, playing with the safety.

“What do you want?” Sam asked.

A cry left him as he was kicked in the back of the knees, and he collapsed to the floor. When he looked up he was met with the steel muzzle of the pistol, depths of the barrel dark. Sam tried to swallow, but found himself incapable of such an action. Saliva built up in his mouth till it threatened to dribble past his lips. Dean still lay out of reach, writhing in pain.

“I want to make sure you’re on for our date. Detroit, a few months from now. I ride you, we burn the planet.” He then whispered conspiratorially, “And then I give you _everything_ you’d ever want.”

“So checking up on me? That’s what this is?” Sam managed to get out.

His eyes were so focused on the metal barrel before him that he started feeling a headache coming on trying to keep it in his vision. His gaze moved to Lucifer’s hand, trying to watch if he was about to squeeze the trigger.

He’d promised he’d never hurt him. Not really. Wouldn’t lie to him. But what truths could he believe from someone who had first come to him in his bed?

“Of course. Have to make sure none of my demons are getting to you too badly.”

“Then why hurt Dean?”

“That was for fun.”

He waved his hand, and his brother gasped in air, rolled onto his back now. Dean was breathing hard, but his body was relaxing. Lucifer had relaxed his hold on him, powers relinquishing.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sam. I won’t. But Dean belongs to my brother. I think you can understand where I’m coming from when I tell you that I just want to put him in his place. Michael doesn’t deserve him like I deserve you.”

Sam glanced at Dean, saw that he was still alright for the moment — well, as much as he could be given the circumstances — and he shifted till the steel was against his skin.

Lucifer wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t kill him. He was just playing. Sam couldn’t figure out why he’d want to, why there was hunger filling his eyes now, or what any of this could mean, but he wouldn’t really shoot him.

“This isn’t what I want,” Sam told him truthfully, feeling tears build up in his eyes. There was emotion caught in his throat, and terror crawled into his chest to make a home there. This was Lucifer. The Devil. And he wanted him, wanted to use Sam, and Sam would lose himself. “I don’t want you. So pull the trigger.”

Lucifer sighed, and moved the gun away from Sam, now having it aimed haphazardly, towards Dean.

“Fine.”

The Devil’s finger twitched, a massive _BANG!_ reverberated about the basement. The muzzle flash from the release of pressure and gas ignited by the firing pin was so bright it hurt Sam’s eyes.  
Dean started screaming.

Sam ran to him, no longer worried about himself, only thinking of his brother as he saw blood running from a wound at his collarbone.

“Dean, it’s gonna be okay,” Sam heaved out, already pressing a hand to him, the other one holding him, pulling him close. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Lucifer told him. Dean’s screams were growing quieter, more choked, face pale, eyes focusing on Sam, but seeming hazy. The Devil put a hand on Dean’s forehead, concentrating for a second, and Sam didn’t have the strength to pull him away. “That’s a killing shot. Shattered his collarbone, and tore through the muscles in his neck, and now the bone shards have punctured his right lung, and I think there’s blood filling up his larynx.”

“Don’t do this!” Sam pleaded.

Dean had been holding onto Sam weakly, but now his eyelids fluttered shut, and he lost consciousness.

Lucifer pressed the gun against Dean’s clammy cheek without much care, and Sam’s breath caught in his throat.

“What do you want, Sam?” he asked. “I can give it to you.”

A tear fell as he murmured, “Save him.”

And Lucifer did, putting a healing hand to his head. In moments Dean was breathing again, no longer bleeding, the color in his skin warming, but he stayed asleep. All his injuries sustained before the bullet remained, the Devil too merciless to give Dean back to Sam whole.

“See? I can give you what you want. I can make you happy.” He placed the gun down, rising, but his mouth quirked as he eyed him, tongue coming out to lick his lips. “I just want you to know, I’m ready when you are, Sam. I’ll be waiting in Detroit when the time comes. Keep yourself nice and hot for me; I like my men with a little fire in their bellies.

Before Sam could process, before he could even think to argue that no such thing would ever happen, that he’d never meet up with him, that he’d never give himself over to him, or say yes, the Devil was gone.

And the gun lay just a few inches from him.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his cheeks as he imagined it against his brow.

If only…

If only…

But still he lived.


End file.
